Target Practice
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Waiting to be told that the team is ready for another mission, Ward finds himself talking to Clint Barton, secrets and snooping crammed between words. And just how did Barton get into that locked room anyway? Both of them are glad to have people who make them smile.


_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Part Four in the 'Declassifying' series.** Warning**, contains polygamy._

* * *

**TARGET PRACTICE**

Ward fired off another series of shots. The paper target sported neat perforations tight around the centre. Ward let out a breath and reloaded. He was starting to get a familiar itch under his skin. The team had recently finished a mission, a particularly difficult one that had culminated in Coulson taking a bullet to the thigh and May breaking her right wrist. Since returning to base, the team had been grounded for rest and recuperation. They weren't going to be officially cleared for duty again for a while yet.

So Ward had helped out with a couple of smaller SHIELD missions and now, well, now he was itching to be out in the field more permanently. SHIELD agents weren't trained for downtime.

He'd seen Fitz and Simmons; they'd been luxuriating in their lab time on base. Apparently they were both getting impressive papers published and were implementing the production of some of the weaponry that they'd come up with on recent missions. Ward had witnessed the awe that they were treated with by some of the other scientists. It had been pretty disconcerting, and had made something like warmth crawl around inside Ward's chest.

"You have your own agent?" one of the scientists had asked with the sort of fascination that always made Ward glare. He had slid his gaze over to the scientist in question, but it had only seemed to encourage them all.

Fitz had sounded convincingly blasé. "So long as we keep him well-fed and give him something to shoot at once a day."

"He's very impressive," Simmons had added, there'd been a private thread in her tone probably only audible to Ward, it had promised something filthy and fulfilling in the near future. "Handpicked by Agent Coulson."

There'd been mutterings then; Ward had gleaned a lot of discussion about Coulson and Tahiti. Simmons hadn't muttered, she'd been completely focused on finishing adjustments to Ward's sidearm.

"There you are, Agent Ward. As good as new."

"Oh please, better than," Fitz had interjected.

Ward had slid the gun into his holster and had almost leaned towards Fitz and Simmons, but had aborted the barely imperceptible movement since he was in a room full of gossipy witnesses. From Simmons's small hidden smile, she'd picked up on what he'd been planning and had brushed her fingers along a countertop in silent stimulating reply. Ward had taken a step towards the door.

"Dinner?"

"Love to," Fitz and Simmons had answered as one.

Ward had left without another word. He'd received a text message soon after from Fitz, claiming that he wasn't getting much work done now, thanks very much, but that his standing amongst his peers had gone through the roof.

There was an almost imperceptible rustle behind Ward. Immediately he spun on his heel, aiming his gun at an intruder who shouldn't have been there at all thanks to the code that Ward had used on the electronic door lock, he liked silence and solitude when working on the weapons range. The intruder was…was Specialist Barton. He looked completely relaxed, kitted out in black, his eyebrows raised.

"Not many people notice. Nice."

Ward frowned but lowered his gun. How had Barton gotten in? The only possible alternate entrance was the ceiling duct and that didn't look like it had been touched, but Ward had heard stories about Barton's penchant for appearing suddenly via the duct system, officially an activity implemented to keep SHIELD's agents on their toes and unofficially done for Barton's own amusement. Ward was pretty sure that he'd heard the specialist crawling around in the walls more than once before.

Everybody knew about Barton's less-than-professional manner. But the results he got couldn't be argued with, even if some agents still avoided him after New York. It was difficult to feel comfortable around someone that you'd seen remorselessly kill friends and colleagues, even if that someone had been brainwashed at the time.

When Barton seemed only inclined to stare at Ward, Ward broke the silence with more than a touch of irritation. "You wanted something?"

Barton's smile was like a drawl. "Just checking in on Coulson's nestlings, since he can't right now."

"Agent Coulson has been cleared for active duty."

There was a beat too long of silence before Barton spoke again. "Yeah…SHIELD's doctors must be miracle workers."

Why was there that heavy note in Barton's voice? Was something wrong with Agent Coulson that Ward didn't know about? Barton didn't give Ward the chance to ask.

"How's he doing in the field?"

Ward frowned, because Barton had high-enough clearance to find that out for himself, didn't he? "He's not out there all that often, a little rusty after his recovery maybe, but nothing stands out."

Barton's expression pinched a little. "Really. Nothing."

He looked deep in thought for a moment and Ward silently mused that the Avengers hadn't been slow in finding a way to uncover the truth - that Coulson was still alive. Ward was sure that it was probably something to do with Tony Stark, according to Fitz and Simmons, even Skye was having trouble penetrating his electronic security.

Barton seemed to snap out of his thoughts and quirked something like a smile, though the hollowness of it was obvious.

"You got close to Tasha's espionage score. She's impressed."

Ward's eyebrow inched up. "I got the impression that she'd like to crush me under her heel, repeatedly."

"Ah, don't take it personally. Tasha wants to do that to most people."

"Including you?"

Because Ward had heard the stories about Hawkeye and Black Widow and knew that any intel was good intel, particularly about people who'd once fought against SHIELD. Somehow a lot of stories intertwined the two agents, stories of how Hawkeye had convinced the notorious assassin Black Widow to not only turn herself in but to then become a SHIELD agent, how she had dropped everything to go to New York when Hawkeye had been compromised, how their relationship was…well, actually nobody was sure what their relationship was and the last person who'd joked about it particularly lasciviously in front of Natasha had ended up in the infirmary.

Barton's grin wasn't hollow at all this time. "Especially me. It's how I know she cares."

He eyed Ward one more time, a hand going to his pocket. "Watch your team, Ward. I wouldn't count on another SHIELD miracle."

There was a flap of paper down at the other end of the room, like the targets were moving, but when Ward turned to look, they were all still and Barton was…Barton was gone. Ward stared up at the ceiling duct again but there was no noise and it didn't look like it had been moved at all. How in the hell had he done that?

Ward ran out of paper targets to shoot at and Agent Hill turned up in person to order him to vacate the weapons range, that impregnable expression on her face. Ward paused as he reached the hallway; glancing back to check that, yes, the keypad was working.

"Is there a security level that can explain how Specialist Barton got in when I specifically made sure that nobody could?"

Agent Hill looked at him. "Barton's on the other side of the country right now."

"You're sure?"

Agent Hill shifted her weight onto her right foot. Ward took the hint and left quickly. Thinking about Barton and his many impossibilities made Ward tense to the point of pain. He really hoped that both Coulson and Agent May healed quickly.

He got a text message from Simmons, announcing when she and Fitz would definitely be free for dinner. He could practically hear the brightness of her tone and see her and Fitz working in frantic harmony, a mess of clever hands and acidic tumbles of words. He smiled, just a little, and felt warmed.

Not so far away, a ceiling duct opened, allowing Specialist Clint Barton to tumble down into a sparse office where a desk was loaded with neat stacks of paper. Coulson glanced up and smiled.

_-the end_


End file.
